


One Thousand and Five Hundred Years

by apprivoise_moi



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apprivoise_moi/pseuds/apprivoise_moi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One thousand and five hundred years. That was how long Merlin waited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Thousand and Five Hundred Years

One thousand and five hundred years. That was how long Merlin waited. But despite that obvious longevity, it felt longer. For one thousand and five hundred years, Merlin wandered, with no purpose other than to wait for the Once and Future King to rise again.

Merlin watched the world grow as he waited. He felt, while incompletely, pride at its triumphs; during its tragedies, he grieved, though he couldn’t help but feel an underlying sense of hope that his King would rise again, as the Great Dragon once claimed would occur during Albion’s time of need.

But he never came.

The world was now in its twenty-first century, having come a long way from the days of Camelot, so old yet still so young. But, while amazed by the advancements of humanity, Merlin had a vague feeling of unease. Something felt imbalanced, not in the way that Merlin normally felt—a half, of course, is never quite complete when missing that which makes it whole—but in an ominous way, as if the world were approaching a crossroads of sorts, an impending destiny.

 _Destiny_ , Merlin sneered to himself in reminiscence. _What a funny thing._

Every day for one thousand and five hundred years, Merlin cursed his destiny, wishing he could have spent more time in the past with the King, wishing he didn’t have to wait so long for him to return; nevertheless, he would never stop waiting. Every day for one thousand and five hundred years, Merlin returned to the Lake of Avalon, hoping to see a figure rise from its murky depths, but every day for one thousand and five hundred years, he left disappointed.

Until today.

He was on his daily walk past the Lake of Avalon, his ancient yet unassuming disguise allowing curious gazes to pass by fleetingly, giving him privacy during his visit. His sad, old eyes scanned the shimmering waters, spying nothing out of the ordinary, nothing special. Swallowing his disappointment, he turned away, like any other day, when he spotted out of the corner of his eye a glistening ripple breach the calm uniformity of the water’s surface. He turned back slowly, his magic tingling under his skin in anticipation as he tried not to get too hopeful.

 _A trick of the light_ , he said to himself. _A fallen leaf, a gust of wind. It must have been._

But before long, he realized that it was none of those things, for there it was, a head of glistening golden hair suddenly breaking the surface of the water, thrown back as if to gasp in a breath of air.

The world stopped moving. Everything froze. Merlin didn’t know if the time had slowed due to his magic, or if it was just the shock; it was probably both, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was the figure rising from the lake. Merlin removed his disguise to get to the edge of the lake faster, stumbling over his clumsy feet as he scrambled to the shore. His pounding heart was all he could hear as he threw off his bag and jacket and crashed into the water, limbs grasping furiously at the waves he made as he tried to get closer to the man for whom he had been waiting for so long.

“Arthur,” Merlin choked out, the name sounding still so beautiful, so familiar on his tongue, even after one thousand and five hundred years of never speaking it aloud. The figure looked up in recognition, and indeed, it was Arthur. His eyes—eyes that Merlin had not seen for so long—were so brilliant a blue that Merlin had to pause in awe before moving forward once more.

Merlin staggered as he got closer, still unsure of whether this was a dream or not. He stopped a foot away from him, taking in his shining and expectant eyes before tentatively reaching out a hand. It made contact with Arthur’s cheek, fingers brushing gently over the skin. Merlin sucked in a breath, for this was no illusion. He was real.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed, and that was all it took for Merlin to break, hearing his name uttered in that perfect voice, one thousand and five hundred years of loneliness finally surfacing to a nearly unbearable degree. He crumbled into Arthur’s arms, wrapping his long-absent friend in an embrace that he wasn’t entirely sure he would ever be willing to break. Tears streamed down his face as he broke into shuddering sobs.

“Don’t be such a girl, _Mer­_ lin,” Arthur laughed, but he returned the embrace, and Merlin could hear that his voice was thick with tears.

“Prat,” Merlin sobbed back.

“You never change,” Arthur murmured, his hold tightening in reassurance. They stood like that for a while, just feeling each other’s presence, until Arthur muttered, “Merlin. I’m cold.”

“Oh, right,” Merlin chuckled, stepping back and furiously rubbing his face to get rid of his embarrassing tears. “Let’s get you some clothes.”

They waded back to shore, Merlin throwing open his bag to find the clothes he kept in there particularly for Arthur’s return. He had updated them throughout the years as new fashions went in and out of style, the current attire being a simple red t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“What,” Arthur articulated after he was dressed, “are those?”

“What, these?” Merlin looked at the sneakers he had just pulled out of his bag. “They’re your shoes.”

“Those are supposed to go on my feet?” Arthur shook his head in exasperation. “How long was I gone?”

“One thousand and five hundred years, one hundred and thirty four days,” Merlin answered solemnly. He looked up to see Arthur regarding him with an apologetic look on his face, so he grinned in reassurance.

Arthur nodded decisively. “Alright, then. I am clearly out of my element.” He dropped himself to the ground and raised his eyebrows expectantly at Merlin. “Well? Aren’t you going to put those,” he wrinkled his nose, “ _shoes_ on my feet?”

Merlin sighed in protest but gave Arthur a fond smile as he crouched down with the sneakers. “You know, if anyone saw me doing this, they’d think you’re a simpleton.”

“What on earth are you talking about? This is completely normal.”

“Not anymore,” Merlin shook his head. “Today, you’re expected to put your own shoes on. Dress yourself. Prepare your own food. Clean your own room,” he stated pointedly.

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? You’re serious?” Merlin nodded quaintly, shrugging a shoulder. “Well, I don’t see anyone around now, so it looks like we don’t have to worry about me looking thick. Get on with it then,” he continued with a smirk, lightly smacking Merlin on the side of his head.

Merlin grinned and did as he was told, stealing looks back up at his King, still not believing that he had returned. Everything still felt like it was in slow motion, like a wonderful dream, except he knew this was real.

After the shoes were tended to, they went up to the street so they could make their way to Merlin’s house. It wasn’t so much a house as a small cottage, just a place to live while keeping close to Avalon. Although it was located outside the city, they had to walk along a main road to get there, and Merlin smirked at the surprise Arthur was about to have.

“This black stuff is so weird,” Arthur was saying. “What did you say it— _what the_ —” A car drove noisily down the road, and Arthur stumbled back, one arm shielding Merlin and the other crossing to his hip for his absent sword. The car rumbled by, and after Arthur realized it wasn’t a threat, he turned to Merlin with a furious and baffled expression on his face. “ _Mer_ lin, what the _hell_ was _that?_ ” he enunciated.

Merlin failed miserably to hide his grin. “It’s called a car,” he managed to get out as he stifled his laughter. “People ride in those instead of on horses now.”

Arthur smacked Merlin’s head again. “Well, it was nice of you to _warn me_ ,” he cried before stalking forward. “Let’s just get home before I encounter any more surprises.”

They continued down the road for a while before turning down a side street to arrive at the cottage. Merlin threw open the door, announcing, “Home, sweet home,” before turning to see Arthur’s reaction.

Arthur surveyed the quaint little dwelling, nodding his head. “It’s nice. Not as nice as my castle,” he smirked, earning a huff from Merlin, “but still nice.”

Merlin prepared them each a cup of tea, Arthur wrinkling his nose suspiciously as he smelled the unfamiliar liquid.

“Try it,” Merlin insisted.

“Well, what is it?”

“It’s tea.”

Arthur’s eyebrow rose in wariness. “ _This_ is tea?” In response to Merlin’s nod of encouragement, he took a sip, frowning at the alien taste before swallowing it with a contented look. “Not bad,” he admitted. He set down the cup with a slight shake of his head. “Everything here is so different. I miss Camelot.”

Merlin nodded soberly. “Me too.”

“Did you ever go back?” Arthur inquired, observing Merlin curiously.

Merlin returned his gaze before looking away. “No,” he sighed.

“Why not?”

“I failed.” Arthur started to protest, but Merlin silenced him with a solemn stare. “I couldn’t go back.”

“They would have forgiven you.”

“I never did,” Merlin declared.

They were silent for a moment. Arthur nudged Merlin. “Well, _I_ forgive you. And I’m back now. Plus, something tells me it wasn’t just a coincidence that you were there when I came out of the lake.” Arthur smiled softly at Merlin’s sheepish blush. “That was routine, wasn’t it?”

“Well, I couldn’t bloody well have you wandering around naked in who-knows-where all by yourself, now could I?” Merlin explained defensively, his blush deepening.

“You went back to check if I was there _every single day_.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Merlin whined.

“You _counted_ ,” Arthur teased.

“You are such a dollop head,” Merlin scoffed. “A royal, pig-headed ass, you are. Would you like me to name a few more? Clotpole, cabbage head—”

Arthur leaned forward and caught Merlin’s lips in a kiss, silencing him. Merlin gasped, surprised, but he soon relaxed into it, moving his hand up to run through Arthur’s hair. Though unexpected, the kiss felt natural, like two halves finally reuniting to become whole.

When they broke apart, it was only to catch their breaths, resting their foreheads together.

“Thank you,” Arthur murmured, “for waiting.”

“I’m glad you’re back,” Merlin replied.

“Me too,” Arthur said, running a hand down Merlin’s neck before pulling away, a curious look on his face. “By the way, why _am_ I back?”

“Well, the Great Dragon said that you would rise again during Albion’s time of need,” Merlin explained. “I haven’t noticed any distinct signs of disaster, but my magic has been a bit on edge. Maybe you’ve been given time to assimilate into this new environment, to familiarize yourself with things, before anything actually happens.”

Arthur nodded, agreeing. Then he looked up suddenly, confusion on his face. “Wait, what is this I hear about a _Great Dragon?_ ”

Merlin’s eyes widened, realizing his blunder. “What? I never told you about him?” Merlin feigned innocence. “Oh, that’s right, you never formally met Kilgarrah.”

“Kilgarrah? It has a _name?_ And what do you mean we’ve never _formally met?”_

 _I probably shouldn’t have said that,_ Merlin cursed himself. Out loud, he continued, “Oh, well, funny story…Remember that dragon that was destroying Camelot that one time? The one that you defeated? Well, actually I defeated him, being the last Dragonlord and all, but that’s not really the point…”

“ _Mer_ lin!”

“That was him,” Merlin finished, flashing a charming smile to get him off the hook. It didn’t work.

Arthur gaped at Merlin incredulously. “Not only were you a _sorcerer_ when magic was outlawed, but you also _befriended a dragon?!”_

“Can we go back to kissing now?” Merlin asked hopefully.

For a moment Arthur looked as though he would oblige, but then realization dawned on him. “That was the dragon that was locked up underneath the castle! The last dragon from before the Great Purge...” He spun around to glare at Merlin, an expression between rage and speculation marking his features, his hands resting firmly on his hips. “Merlin, tell me, how exactly did he escape?”

 _Retreat! Retreat!_ Merlin thought. “Um, should I take that as a ‘no’ to the kissing, then?” he said, standing up and inching his way to the exit.

“ _MERLIN!_ ” Arthur shouted as Merlin darted away.

As Arthur chased after him, Merlin realized that it was the first time he had felt truly happy in one thousand and five hundred years; as Arthur grabbed him and spun him around, growling about unfinished business, Merlin recalled their similar skirmishes in Camelot, those ten years spent never leaving each others’ sides before being wrenched apart for one hundred and fifty times that amount; and as Merlin leaned in for a kiss, drowning out Arthur’s shouts and erasing his frown, he felt an excited anticipation at their future, the future they would share. Together. Reunited.

Although he didn’t know what would become of his destiny, Merlin knew he was ready to face anything, as long as Arthur was at his side.

**Author's Note:**

> The "1500 years" thing is meant to be a rough estimate of how much time has passed since when the Arthurian legends took place, which was around the 5th or 6th centuries.


End file.
